


To The Stars

by wavesketcher



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV), Titanic (1997)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 22:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19778206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavesketcher/pseuds/wavesketcher
Summary: "Stefan's patience was thinning – he didn't care to entertain a brother whose presence weighed like a melancholy burden. Damon began retreating alone to the upper deck, to the stare at the sea, fighting, to no avail, against the ship's intrusion. He also liked to look at the girl on the bench." ((Or: Titanic but it's Bonnie and Damon)).





	To The Stars

“They call it the Unsinkable.”

Damon’s mouth twitched with a whisper, “Seems a little presumptuous don’t you think, brother?”

The youngest Salvatore, however, was distracted. His father frowned in Damon’s direction. _Do not embarrass me, son._

“The world’s largest passenger ship. Measuring at 269 meters!” The man puffed his chest, proud and powerful atop a floating hunk of steel. Damon, who was easily bored by other people’s fascinations and achievements, lost his gaze in the swarms below him. There were hundreds, thrusting their collected weight up the ramp and into the _Unsinkable_ ’s great belly. Being Salvatore’s, they’d been escorted aboard first, presented with all the majesty and glimmer of what was, really, a glorified sailing boat destined for the _New World_.

“How long until we set sail?” He asked lazily, drawing a finger across the golden railing. “Hm, this is dusty.”

The talking man turned beetroot and hurried his words together: sorrysirwewillgetaerserviceonthatimmediately. Damon felt the disapproving furrow of his father’s brow; his brother’s flickered eyeroll.

“We set sail at noon. Please, make yourself comfortable atop the deck. Departing will be a momentous occasion.”

He wished he could share Stefan’s excitement, his splendour at all things shiny and designed. Unfortunately, the only object that had ever held Damon’s attention was Miss Katherine, and she was far more deadly. Women were the most dangerous of infatuations – the _world’s largest passenger ship_ was healthier, albeit failed to set his heart alight.

* * *

Ticket pressed into her palm, hair licking itself in the wind, she grinned at the man in blue. He lifted a brow. “You’re cutting it fine, young lady.”

“Where’s the excitement in being early?”

He grunted. “You found a found a ticket then?”

“Won it,” she responded proudly, “Third class.”

His mouth fell open in a laugh, “Fancy gambling away a third-class ticket on the Titanic.”

The wail of a horn cut between them and her eyes widened, thrilled. “May I?”

“As you wish, Miss…?”

“Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett.” She tipped her cap as she rushed past him, and attached herself to the last of the procession – the march to freedom, to adventure.

* * *

The ship pulled away in slow, tortuous heaves. Damon caught the faces of waving children, mothers, fathers, workers, dreamers, all marvelling at the vessel. Again, the blunt edge of heartbreak numbed and hollowed and he released his hand from the railing, intent on pouring some scotch down his throat.

“How can you leave this?” Stefan’s head shook with the effort of trying to decipher him. It was a worthless feat – Damon was born an enigma, he struggled to comprehend himself most days.

“I am parched.”

The ship groaned but did not tremble – the undulations of the tide slapped noiseless, passive, against its shell. And, striding through the empty hall, Damon felt equally as unmoved.

* * *

On that first day, Bonnie spent every hour of daylight, and well into the night, out on the deck. She lay on across the wooden slats of a bench and watched as blue ran into purples and pinks, then black. England was a vaguely blinking shadow now – the open water felt as close to infinity as humanly possible.

When not fixated by the arching sky, Bonnie was collecting the passenger’s stories. First Class were palpable; their movements slowed by laden petticoats and an inherent lack of urgency. They were beautiful, aloof and delicate but, like her, tittered with the excitement of being on _the_ _maiden voyage_.

The sea air bit at her exposed ankles, attacking with the prelude of a coming storm. Just ahead of her, leaning against the rails, under a Parasol, were two men. From her line of sight, stretched horizontal across the bench, she could only discern the features of a handsome golden-haired passenger, talking animatedly to a shorter, more slumped frame. Bonnie received hints of conversation carried by the wind.

“You have to understand, Damon, he just wants what is best for us. We could not have remained there. You _know_ this. Why must you be so obstinate about it?”

“Obstinacy is stubbornness, brother,” the other man flung his arms in the air theatrically, “I am here, am I not? Aboard the Great Titanic.”

“Have you never thought that maybe this is meant to be?”

“Of course. And I have reached the conclusion that the Lord does not care for Damon Salvatore.”

Bonnie sighed at this statement. _Little rich boy._ Whilst she was being bruised and leered at, this _Damon_ was learning Latin and naming ducks on their estate’s lake. Whilst she was leaping from poor house to poor house, peeling scraps from the warehouse floor and carrying all the wealth she owned in a single pocket, he was serenading bonnet-tipped ladies and sipping from imported wine. She folded her arms behind her head and lost herself in the sky once more.

* * *

A day had passed and still, he remained indifferent. Breakfasts and dinners satisfied his hunger, and little else. Stefan’s patience was thinning – he didn’t care to entertain a brother whose presence felt like a melancholy burden. Damon began retreating to the upper deck, to the stare at the sea, fighting, to no avail, against the ship’s intrusion.

He also liked to look at the girl on the bench. She mostly had her eyes fixated on the sky, as if the wispy clouds were letters and she were reading. Her ankles were dark, much darker than he was familiar with, her hair coiled and bouncy. She didn’t look more than a maid in browns and creams, and yet, he couldn’t stop looking at her, wondering.

On the second afternoon of sailing, the sky growled and along came the rain. Naturally, everyone squealed and tugged on the hem of their dresses, rushing to the safety of ceilings. Damon turned from the railing and the girl on the bench was grinning. _Laughing_. The rain pounded his waistcoat as he walked towards her.

“Are you insane?”

The girl shifted her grin to his question. Her prettiness was… quite startling. “It’s only water.”

Damon bent his head towards the decking. “And freezing. You will catch your death.”

She wiped a hand across her eye, blinking in the pooling rain. “Then let death catch me. I _dare_ it.”

* * *

Bonnie shivered inside the blanket. It was scratchy and yellow and warmer than anything she’d ever wrapped around her frame before. _Maybe the rich boy was right._ Still, she couldn’t regret it. For a single moment, an empty deck, an empty sea, the world was hers.

“You coming to dinner?”

The woman had two children hanging off each hand, a smile in her eyes.

She nodded at her cabin-mate, Leena. “I’m starving. Well, hungry.” Bonnie knew what starving felt like.

They ascended the stairs with several other third-class passengers – each with a glint in their eye, a shared delight that they were going to be eating on the Atlantic Sea.

Dinning for steerage did not overlook the ocean but the buzz in that orange-lit room became its own kind of wonder. She ate and laughed and ate again: plum pudding and freshly baked bread. Tucking a roll or two into her pocket was a habit more than anything.

“You going up top again?”

She twisted her head to smile at Leena, “Always.”

Bonnie’s eyes fluttered close as she inhaled salted air; already, she’d made a home on the sea. Rounding the corner though, she faltered. Her bench was occupied.

Damon sat with his back straight, staring at the water with an austerity that made her hesitate. His hair had curled wildly, shaking like tiny tails in the breeze, and his fingers were bound together on his lap. Thought chased itself across his brow, the sharp blue of his eyes, his frown.

Bonnie tread closer; Damon’s mouth loosened a little.

“I was wondering when you would return.”

“I was at dinner. We… we eat later than you.”

Damon tilted his head, “You’re welcome to sit down, you know.”

“Yes.”

Aside from a few intoxicated second class hugging the railings and singing songs to the sea, they were alone. Bonnie sat a about a meter or so from his left… for precaution.

“My name is Damon Salvatore but I cannot imagine that means much to you.”

Bonnie moistened her lip. “I like names but… no, Salvatore just sounds like a pretty one.”

He chuckled and the skin around his eyes folded in short lines. Perhaps only then did it dawn her just how attractive the rich stranger was. “What is yours?”

“Um, Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett.

“Pleasure to meet you um, Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett.”

She swallowed her smile with a question. “What are you going to do when you get there?”

“Where?”

It was her turn to laugh. “New York, of course.”

Damon’s eyes hardened again. “Right. I suppose whatever my father needs me to do. Marry or-”

“Bullshit.”

He stared at her in disbelief. Bonnie blanched and covered her mouth. “Sorry, I… sorry.”

“No, I am intrigued. Why did that elicit such… profanity.” There was a smirk in his words, she could see it – something teasing in his eye that made her stomach jump a little.

She answered with hesitance. “I just mean… you’re a man, you’re rich…. The world is designed for people like you. Why waste it?”

There was a long pause; only the sound of a drunken chorus circled. Damon regarded her, thinking. Bonnie squirmed under his gaze, feeling suddenly very foolish. The poor girl, atop a ship headed to America, talking to _him_.

“Do tell me then, Miss… Bonnie, what are _you_ going to do when we are back on land?”

It was a question she hadn’t even asked herself. Damon ran his thumb along the back of his hand – slender and pale. They looked cold.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “but I think that’s what makes it so brilliant.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! They're my greatest encouragement :)


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